DarmokArena
by Blynneda
Summary: Parody of "Dawn" Yes. I have finally returned! Is anyone else cheering? No? Hmm.


Yeah, long delay.  Sorry about that.  Assuming you still remember who I am.  I'll try to catch up over the next few weeks or months.  Or years.  Hope you enjoy!  I'll try to get "The Seventh" by next week (no promises!).

_Intro:  Just in case you missed the last Trip-in-undies episode, here's another!  The first one was pretty lame, so let's see how this goes.  Hmm, here's an idea:  Let's replace meaningful, quality stories with a lot of sexy half-nekkid shots of our most attractive actors!  And if they're going to do that, why not try an episode where they visit a nudist colony-planet and everyone strips?  That would be sexy.  Hmm…there's an idea…_

DARMOK/ARENA

Teaser:  _In Shuttlepod 1:_

Trip:  _Chief Engineer's Log, Supplemental:_  Man, is this cool, or what?  I get to do my own voiceovers now!  One more step on my way to bein' Cap'n!  Oh, yeah.  I'm testing out the new autopilot upgrades to make sure I don't crash into a moon.  It's a good thing Malcolm innit with me, we'd prob'ly get stranded or some'un out here.

Travis, we ain't gonna need you anymore, so you can just go home or get killed off or some'un.

Archer (over com):  Archer to Shuttlepod One.

Trip (without pausing computer):  Yeah, Cap'n?

Archer:  Looks like you're about to have some company.  I hope you put out the good china— (static, replaced by low-tempo country-blues song)

            _And those eyes, and her gre-en spleen/Told me she was right for me-e-e—_

Trip:  What was that, Cap'n?  I'm getting some interference from a radio station.  Good song, though.  (goes over to front windshield) Hoppin' bullfrogs!

Outside window, big scary ship blasts at him, circles round again. 

Trip:  Wol, that wasn't very nice.  Tucker to _Enterprise_…HELP!  

I'm making an emergency landing, thrusters only.  (loud, creaking noise)  Okay, no thrusters either.  (goes down with sickening _crunch_)

Computer (sing-song):  I'm still listening to you!

ACT 1:  Fall down and go boom

_Bridge:_

Hoshi:  _Enterprise_ to Shuttlepod One.  Commander Tucker, do you read me?

Trip (over com):  Why, do you got some'un written on you?  Oh, sorry, I'm not supposed to be able to communicate here. (signs off)

Hoshi (to Archer):  Um, nothing, sir.  I guess.

Archer:  Malcolm?

Reed:  What?  I didn't do it!  (recovers)  Oh.  I detected weapons fire.

Archer:  Location?

Reed:  50,000 km, bearing 003 Mark 21, I think.

Archer:  50,000 km from _what_?

Reed:  I don't know, sir.  It's the _dam_ned interference.

Archer:  You don't mean the damned inter_fer_ence?

Reed:  No, sir.

Archer:  Oh.

T'Pol:  Many of the moons have atmospheres rich in selenium isotopes, which is an element I just made up.  That's why our sensors are screwy.

Archer:  I don't think they're working any worse than usual.  Trip's a good pilot.  (T'Pol snorts derisively)  If he was near a moon, I think he'd be smart enough to crash on it.

T'Pol:  Unless he was out in the middle of nowhere.

Archer (conceding):  That's a second possibility.  How many of these moons _are_ there, anyway?

T'Pol:  Three and a half billion.

Archer (double take):  _What_?

T'Pol (calmly):  Joking.  There's sixty-two.

Archer:  Okay.  Then we'd better start looking.  Travis, go and look.  Take your binos.

Travis:  But sir, I left mine at home.

Archer:  Then you better hope you ate your carrots.  Keep hailing him!

Hoshi (startled):  Oh, yeah.  When I'm not giving lines, I just forget what the hell I'm doing here.

_On alien planet, er, moon:_

Trip opens door, grabs throat and chokes.

Trip:  Gak!  Forgot…to check…atmosphere…choking…there.  That's better.  (breathes deeply)  Phew!  Good thing I happened to pick an oxygen-rich moon, or I'd be a goner.  (looks around)  Man, I should really stop using Shuttlepod One.  I think it's jinxed or some'un.

_Chief Engineer's Log, Supplemental:_  Since I'm all alone, I have to talk to myself.  (picks up Q-tip, shoves in ear)  I was attacked by a ship, and some'un in the atmosphere—selenium isotopes, perhaps—forced me to make an emergency landing.  (pulls out Q-tip)  Whoo!  That's a lotta wax!  Looks like she took some damage, the pod, I mean.  I didn't bring a chick with me this time.

Computer:  You know, I already know this.  You were recording before when it happened.

Trip:  Shut up.  So, anyway, I'm not flying outta here, cause I don't think I can grow wings.

Computer:  Duh.

Trip:  I'll try to get the transceiver working, play a li'l ham radio.

Starts fire using nearby lumber.

Trip:  I decided to sit outside because I like the fresh air.  I can pretend I'm camping.  (gouging at transceiver with stick)  Damn it.  Mah hand slipped, an' I'm cold, an' I don't even have Malcolm or a babe to talk to to fill up airtime.  (crackling sound)  Hey, what was that?  Maybe it's a wild, foraging desert monkey, come to bask in the warmth of my fire.  (picks up pipe conveniently at hand, and, in sing-song voice)  Oh, _de_sert monkey!  I'm coming to bash your he-ad in!  (circles around pod)  Huh.  I coulda sworn you was here.

Alien (soon to be known as…um, Ziggy) appears.

Ziggy (note:  since it will be boring to transliterate what the alien says, I'll provide my own translation based on body language, etc., a la "Whose Line Is It, Anyway?"):  Look at my pretty green phaser fire, milkface!

Trip scurries back into pod like a mouse (nobody around to show manliness to!).

Trip:  Aw, _man_!  He stole my transceiver!  If only I wasn't such a wuss!

_In…space:_

Alien ship follows _Enterprise_.

Archer:  Who are they?  
T'Pol:  An Arkonian military vessel.

Archer:  A who?  You've dealt with them before, then?

T'Pol:  Yes.  I have a personal working relationship with every new civilization we encounter, just because I'm a Vulcan.

Archer (pauses):  I'm going to assume that's sarcasm.

Hoshi:  They're hailing us.

Alien #2:  You are on an unauthorized course.  Leave.  Immediately.  That means "now."

Archer:  Good thing translation was no problem… (stiffly)  Oh, yeah?  Who are you?

Alien #2:  Captain Khatan Zshaar.  We have orders to destroy any vessel in our territory.

Archer (taunting):  You know what _your _name sounds like?  "Can't Share."  If you have orders, why haven't you destroyed us yet?  You chicken?  Anyway, I'm Captain Jonathon Archer, of the _Enterprise_.

Khatan:  Oh, _you_ have special permission.

Archer:  Is that sarcasm again?

Khatan:  Hey, there's a Vulcan on your bridge.  I can tell by the pointy ears.  Why?

Archer (to the surprise of everyone on the bridge):  She's my _girlfriend_.  What's it to you?

Khatan:  Go away, Vulcan-lover!

Archer:  Oh, wait.  We've got a guy missing.  We think one of your bastard ships—hey, maybe even _you_—shot him.  He was in a shuttlepod, by the way, not just floatin' in space.

Khatan:  Our guy is missing, too!  We have so much in common!  (becomes more serious)  Well, guess what, Charlie, he's already dead.  My patrol ships have the fastest guns west of Alpha Centauri.

Archer:  Hmm.  (light bulb above his head)  Here's an idea:  Let's search together!  There's two of us, 62 moons, that means… (counts on fingers)  32 each!

T'Pol (quietly corrects):  31.

Archer:  Then we'll be out of your hair—is that hair?—after we pick up the charred remains of my buddy Trip!

Khatan thinks.

Hoshi:  You know, if you didn't sound so smug, he might be more willing to help.

_Back to the dark side of the moon:_

Trip, skulking in the dark, slips on dirt.

Trip (whispering to himself, so we can hear):  Hey, what's this, a li'l laser?  It'd prob'ly zap me to atoms if I walked into it.  (thinks)  Or maybe it's just a motion detector.

(back in pod)  Yup, it's him.  I recognize the ship from the split-second glimpse I got before I crashed into a giant crater.  Besides, who else is hangin' around here?  If I'd brought a Universal Translator along—or Hoshi—I'd be able to explain that the bastard stole my transceiver and I want it back, dammit, and I'm not trying to take over his radio station.  Instead, I have to use rude gestures to communicate.  At least it's startin' to warm up.  Dawn is coming.  No, not morning, or the sun, but…Dawn.

At alien camp, Ziggy is stabbing at the transceiver with a pointy stick.

Ziggy:  Gah, it was working so well when the pasty boy was doing it!  Worthless piece of tourist junk!

Trip's voice:  Howdy, pardner, just want to send my greetings to you.  Even though you can't understand me.  I'm just trying to trick you anyway, so it really don't matter what I say… (Ziggy wanders off)

Trip (sneaking over into camp site):  Hee, hee!  He really fell for the ol' switcheroo!  (grabs transceiver, but for some reason, doesn't immediately leave)

Ziggy is tracking down "Trip"

Trip's voice:  …So I'm just gonna sing you a song.  "_If only she didn't have sweet rubber letters/She wouldn't of made me go find someone better—_"__

Ziggy (growls):  I _hate_ that song!  They play it every hour, _on_ the hour!

Meanwhile, Trip is taking his sweet time.  Ziggy returns from a totally different direction, sets off his own trap, and somehow can't see Trip by the fire.  He approaches.  Trip jumps out of the ship.

Trip:  Banzai!  Ha!  I've got the gun now, Bozo!  Hi, I'm Trip, your arch-nemesis.

Ziggy:  You dumbass!  The safety's on!

Trip:  Nice to meet you, too.  I want my transceiver back.  Even though I already got it.

Ziggy (grabs gun, shoots him):  Well, that's that.  Now I'll make him strip nekkid.

ACT 2:  Some stuff happens.

_Still on planet/moon:_

Ziggy (by fire, fiddling with transceiver):  What kind of outdated crap do these humans have, anyway?  (goes over to Trip, tied up with rope Ziggy happened to have for his…well, we won't speculate _why _he had rope)  Hey, milkface!  Milkface!

Trip (waking up):  Why do you keep callin' me milkface?  I mean, groan

Ziggy (picks him up):  Did you get this worthless junk at Radio Shack?  Tell me!

Trip:  You don't have a UT on you, do ya?

Ziggy (shouts):  Why didn't you get it at Circuit City?!  [_not an advertisement_]

Trip (shouts back):  Because they were outta stock!

Ziggy:  Some excuse—out of stock.  Well, now it's broken.  How's that make you feel?

Trip (still shouting):  I can't make it work!  It's broken.  You know—'broken.'

Ziggy:  I thought I just said that.

Trip:  Well, you stole it so I couldn't fix it, buster.

Ziggy:  So, how about this?  I have a broken transceiver, too.  Why don't we try fixing that one instead, just for fun.  It's in my ship. (nods head back)

Trip:  Let's see…you want me to fix _your_ transceiver?  (Ziggy touches nose—next word!)  Izzat a yes or a no?

Ziggy:  It's a yes, dumbass!  Haven't you ever played charades?

Trip:  Wol, dumbass to you, too!  (_doesn't that remind you of that Shatner line from ST4?  I just realized that_)

Ziggy (picks him up by throat):  No one calls me a dumbass and gets away with it!

Trip:  You kill me and I can't fix anything.

Ziggy:  Hey, that's right.  I didn't think of that.

Trip:  You have to untie me.  I need my hands.

Ziggy (threateningly):  If you try to escape, I'll chase after you until the next commercial.

Trip:  That sounds like a plan.

Ziggy unties Trip.

_Ready Room:_

Archer:  Any progress?

T'Pol:  We've searched 5 moons.

Archer:  Five?  That's it?  What the hell's taking so long?

T'Pol:  They are big.

Archer (relaxes):  Oh, well.  Did you find anything?

T'Pol (casually):  Yes, actually, we found Trip on the first one, lucky us.

Archer:  Really?

T'Pol:  No.  Obviously, he will be on the last one we check.

Archer:  Well, that's logical.  We won't keep looking when we find him.  (pauses)  Will we?

T'Pol (considers):  True.

Archer (getting annoyed):  This is Arkonian territory.  Why aren't they putting out all the stops to help us?  It's not like we would inconvenience them or anything.

T'Pol:  I think it's because I'm a Vulcan.

Archer:  For a peaceful, logical species, you sure have a lot of enemies.

T'Pol:  It all started when we made First Contact—

Archer:  Well, it couldn't really start before, could it?

T'Pol:  The Arkonians were suspicious and deceitful bastards, unlike the humans.

Archer:  _There's _a stereotype if I've ever heard one.  Well, good thing I'm a human!

T"Pol:  As much as we insult you guys, we actually like humans best.

Archer:  Aw, isn't that sweet?  The Vulcans like us better because we're morally superior.  To everyone but the Vulcans.

T'Pol:  Anyway, you're going to have trouble.  Just like all those other aliens that hate Vulcans.

Archer:  Who, the Andorians?

T'Pol:  I'm not sure.  I forget.  There may have been another.  Just be careful.

Archer:  Careful, ha!  Let me know when we reach the next moon.

T'Pol:  We've reached the next moon.

_The Moon—4 in the morning:_

Trip working like a slave with a phallic symbol.

Trip:  Dammit!

Ziggy:  Dammit!

Trip:  Well, like they always say, the first words you teach a foreigner are the dirty ones.

Ziggy:  You talk too much, Dammit.

Trip:  What?  I wasn't just sayin' my name there.  I was swearin'.  _I'm_ Trip.  Me Trip.  You…Jane?

Ziggy:  Me Ziggy.  I mean, Zho'Kaan.

Trip:  Good.  Ziggy.  How 'bout some water?  I'm parched!  (gestures)

Ziggy (to himself):  He must be thirsty.  I recognize the universal gestures.  (tosses canteen)  Here's some delicious mud stew!

Trip (drinks, spits out):  Ick!  What the hell is that?!

Ziggy:  What are you throwing my mud stew all over the ground for?  I should whoop you!

Trip:  Sorry.  I have water in my shuttle.  _Water_!!  Maybe if I say it louder, you'll understand.

Ziggy:  I'm going to say your name now…Trip.

Scene changes.  Trip is gradually undressing.  Zaps self on phallic symbol.

Ziggy:  It's hot…it's hot.  I mean, _d'zat…d'zat_.

Trip (yanks on lawnmower starter):  I can never get these damn things to work!  (cuts self) Ow!

Ziggy:  Ooh, let me see!  (spits mist on his arm)

Trip:  What the hell are you doin'?  You crazy?  (arm heals)  Whoa.  Can you do that with the scrapes on my temples?

Ziggy:  Get back to work before I defecate on you.  You don't want to know what that'll do to you!

Trip:  Okay.  I can't fix this.  Come look.  (gestures)  C'mere.

Ziggy:  Oh, does that mean 'come here?'  I'll go see.

Trip:  Now, see this?  (squirts brake fluid in Ziggy's eyes)  Ha!  Now I have the gun again!  Sucker!  Now, pack up that stuff.  (Ziggy just sits there)  Pick them up!

Ziggy:  Oh!  Pick them _up_!  I thought you said "I'm a pup."  Was wondering.

Trip:  Yeah, same to you.  Tough luck.  The way this episode is going, you'll have it back by next commercial, anyway.

ACT 3:  More stuff happens, using the term "stuff" loosely.

_Bridge:_

Archer:  What have you got?

T'Pol:  See for yourself.

Archer (looks at little moons orbiting on display):  Oh, pretty.  Is that for the science fair?  A little computer game like "Asteroids?"

T'Pol:  It's a thermokinetic analysis of the moons.  Each of them undergoes temperature variation in their orbits.

Archer:  Um…I don't understand Vulcan.  Try English.

T'Pol:  That _was_ English.  Long story short, Trip is probably toast.  Literally.

Archer:  Oh.  Then we better hope he landed on the Dark Side of the Moon.  (shouts) FLOYD!

T'Pol:  And that we find him before…Dawn.

Archer:  Yeah, that's a given.

_The Moon, perhaps 5 o'clock:_

Trip is tying up Ziggy.

Ziggy:  I could break these bindings easily.

Trip:  Don't give me that look.  It's your fault.  (chugs drink)  Mmm, water.  You want some food?

Ziggy:  That's not food.  It looks like a strip of tire or something.

Trip:  Here.  You can have the piece I ate off of.  (hands it to him)

Ziggy (spits out):  Yuk!  Human saliva residue!

Trip:  Yup.  That's what I think.  Where's a Power Bar when you need one?

Ziggy:  Don't you have any finely catered meals?  Hey, look, it's almost Dawn.

Trip (turns to look):  What?  Your ship?  You have food in your ship?

Ziggy:  No, dumbass.  It's almost Dawn.  We should start praying now.

Trip:  "Dawn."  That means food?

Ziggy:  No, it means dawn.

Trip:  Food…ship?

Ziggy:  "Sh—it."

Trip:  Yeah, that's what comes later.  After food.  I think I can fix this now.  I can cannibalize your power source.  (grabs phallic symbol, which zaps him)  Ow.  Oh, yeah, I forgot that…And get mine working.  Maybe get a message off.  (waves hand vaguely)

Ziggy:  So, you've finally noticed the sky, have you?  

(emotion-wrenching music for no particular reason)

Trip:  There.  I think this is going to work.

Ziggy:  It sucks.

Trip (defensive):  No, it doesn't.  (zaps self again)

Ziggy (laughing):  Told you it sucked!

Trip:  Ooh.  Look, it _does_ work!  Tucker to _Enterprise_…Hello?

Ziggy:  I thought he said his name was Trip.

Trip:  This terrain, it's all volcanic, like T'Pol.  I shoulda thought of this before.  We have to go climb a mountain to get a message through.  Maybe it'll get through the interference.  (wiggles fingers dramatically)

Ziggy:  Why is he talking about the boogeyman now?

Trip:  But we have to do it together—you and me.  [_A/N:  I think I feel a tear falling from my eye._]

Ziggy:  Whoa, this relationship's going a little faster than I wanted.

Trip (holds up gun):  See?  (tosses it three feet away)  I won't hurt you.  And you won't hurt me!

Ziggy:  That's what you think!

Trip:  Okay, I'm reassured.  Here, I'll untie you.  I'm glad we understand each other now.  (holds his hands lovingly, like in a marriage ceremony)  Innit this sweet?  We're buds now.

Ziggy:  It's almost time for a commercial—I need my gun back!  (head butt)

Dramatic fight scene:  Ziggy spits in Trip's eyes, healing his astigmatism.  Pathetic swings.  They're starting their own Intergalactic Fight Club!  Then they get weak and push each other around a little.  And collapse.  Trip wins, because humans are morally superior.

Trip:  Is that the best you can do?

Ziggy:  Just about, yeah.  You looked like a wuss.

Trip (picks up gun, disembodied deep voice says, "Finish Him"):  Now I'll throw it really far.  We can fight some more if you want, or we can try to get the hell out of here.  What's it gonna be?

Ziggy (thinks):  Um…I'll pick the fighting.

_Next scene:_

Trip:  Well, it's long past Dawn, and they still haven't found us.

_Bridge:_

Hoshi:  Captain, I'm picking up a transmission.

Archer:  Trip?

Hoshi:  Hold on.

Radio (same song, now sounding vaguely like "Home on the Range"—but more alien!):_  Oh, my beautiful Arkonian miss/She gives me a dream in her kiss/She leads me back home/To a comb-whopping bone/And says, "Well, now, isn't this bliss?"_

Hoshi:  Oops, wrong station.  Here.

Trip (over com):  A little help, please?

_On…the Moon:_

Trip:  Chief Engineer's Log, Supplemental:  We started hailing _Enterprise_ two hours ago, no response.  The sun's not even up yet, although it's bright outside, and it's already hotter 'n hell.  I've removed my shirt.  Pants are next.  Never mind that sunburn-cancer stuff.  My pal here doesn't look good, but then I've never found him particularly attractive, despite my increasingly nudity.  I can't be sure, but I don't think he can sweat.  Two clues here:  He's not sweating.  And he smells better 'n me.  I learned his name is Ziggy, unless that word means some'un else.  I've learned all about him.  He's my friend.  Here, lemme help you with that mud stew.

Ziggy:  You smell funny.

Trip:  Ah!  The sun is too bright for my subterranean, over-developed optic lenses!

Ziggy:  What?

Trip:  That's a big-ass sun.

Ziggy:  No kidding.  Let me cower behind this shrub.

ACT 4:  And…the stunning conclusion.

Trip:  Hoo, boy, it's hot now!  Ziggy?  Are you dead yet?

Ziggy (weakly):  Is _Enterprise_ here yet?

Trip:  Nope.  No _Enterprise_.

Ziggy:  I may as well have croaked, then.  Gimme some more mud stew.

Trip:  It's gone.  Don't worry.  I'll get Phlox to cook up a new batch for you when we get back to the _Enterprise_.

Ziggy:  I thought it wasn't coming.

Trip:  Well, I'm still optimistic.  It's in my nature.

Ziggy:  I think I'll just die now, thanks.

Trip:  Stay with me, Ziggy.  _Gahn Tahk_!  Don't die on me now, understand?

Ziggy:  What the hell does "_gahn tahk_" mean?  (together, they make twitching head gesture)

Hoshi (over com):  _Enterprise_…Tucker…

Trip (rushing to phallic symbol):  Whoo hoo!  Hi, folks!  It's a bit toasty down here.  Ladies, I have removed my shirt.

T'Pol (straight-faced):  Yum.  I mean… (composes herself)  You're still alive, Commander.

Trip:  Don't send a shuttlepod!  There's some'un screwy out there!

Archer:  Yeah, yeah, we know.  It's selenium isotopes.  We don't think it'll interfere with the transporter.

Trip:  Don't _think_?  Isn't that some'un you wanna be a li'l more confident on?

Archer (tries to sound sincere):  I _am_ certain.

Trip:  Oh, yeah.  I'm not alone, Cap'n.

Archer:  Right.  Did you kill the other pilot yet?  How are you getting along?

Trip:  Uh, you could call us Oscar and Felix.  I'm worried, though.  He's out of mud stew and about to kick it.

Archer:  Hold on.  Go beam them up, Scotty.  I mean, Malcolm.

Phlox:  Keep your coveralls on, Captain.  If you beam the Arkonian up (technical details here), he'll probably die.

Archer:  Oh.  Okay.  (goes back to com, because you have to speak right into it)  Sorry, Trip.  The alien stays.

Trip:  Well, then, in my chivalry and stupidity, I'm stayin', too.

Archer:  Don't be a fool for some alien loser.

Trip:  He's not a loser.  He's my friend.  You could modify their shuttlepod to filter out the isotopes.  Check the intake manifold.  And the carburetor.

Archer:  Fine.  I'll do it.  Archer out.

Trip:  Hmm.  Maybe I should've asked him to beam down some water or chilled beverages or an umbrella or some'un.  Oh, well, I'll survive.

Five minutes later… 

Trip:  Tucker to _Enterprise_.  How 'bout some Gatorade, guys?  Hello?  The relays are fused.  Must be the heat.  (looks at Ziggy)  Hey!  (dumps water on head)

Ziggy:  Ah!  _Bakthak_ urine!

Trip:  Well, there goes my water.  You know, I think I'll start a long speech about my life as if I'm about to die.  (composes his thoughts) I wouldn't trade my time on _Enterprise_ for anything.  Not even a whole gallon of Gatorade.  I've seen things I never imagined.  That alien chick who got me pregnant...that other alien chick with Odo…that alien princess chick just the other week…that's about it.  Man, those were the days.  I guess you have a life, too, Ziggy.  Or was it Zho'Kaan?  Zho'Kaan.  That's a funny name.  Kinda sounds like an insurance company, don't it?  "Zho'Kaan…when your life is on the line, we'll be there to pick up the pieces."

Ziggy:  God, I wish he'd shut up.

Trip:  At least I finally got a soliloquy to kill time.  Because it's really just a matter of seconds before the ship comes down to get us.  Not even any tension or anything.  (hears noise)  Hey, what's that? _ V'doza_!

Ziggy:  Food?  Where?

_And, in orbit:_

Enter Alien #2 wearing camo, into Ready Room.

Archer:  I just got a report from my doctor.  Your pilot's doing well.  He'll be ready to go in a few hours.

Alien #2:  I still don't know why _our_ doctor couldn't take care of him.

Archer:  Well, funny thing.  Phlox needs more screen time.  And we didn't want another guest star.  Hey, it's the biz.

Alien #2 (seriously):  I understand.  How's your crewman?

Archer:  Eh, he's fine.

Alien #2:  If I find that my pilot fired without provocation, he'll be shoved through my paper shredder.

Archer (looks sick):  Um, that's okay.  I think Trip made a friend.  He needs friends.

Alien #2:  Oh.  Okay, then.  See ya.  (starts to leave, then stops)  Oh, yes.  I expect you to leave this system immediately.  As agreed.

Archer nods in manly fashion, which Alien #2 doesn't understand because gestures are different.  He leaves.  Alien #2, that is, not Archer.

Archer:  Well, that was smooth.

T'Pol:  You didn't screw up as badly as I expected.  I'm astonished.  You made better relations in a day than the Vulcans have in a century.

Archer:  How the hell did that happen?

T'Pol:  I don't know.  We've always had problems getting along with people.

Archer:  Must be because you're uptight fogies out of touch with the rest of the universe…

T'Pol:  Which is why we're morally superior.

Archer:  Let's hope it stays that way.  With the Arkonians, I mean.

T'Pol (darkly):  It won't.

_Sickbay:_

Trip:  How's he doing?

Phlox:  Why don't you ask him yourself?  I'm busy.

Trip:  Okay.  (turns to Ziggy)  How are you doing?

Ziggy:  _Tarratt-aash._

Trip:  Does that mean good?

Ziggy:  I believe you promised me some _tarratt-aash_.

Trip:  Oh, the mud stew.  I didn't realize you could understand me.

Ziggy (shrugs):  Oh, I picked up a word here and there.

Trip:  Won't take a minute.  It'll prob'ly be a few hours.  By then, you'll be back on your own ship, where mud stew runs out of the faucets.  Anything else, O Master?

Ziggy:  Mud stew!

Trip:  Yeah, mud stew.  (walk off)

Ziggy:  Trip…when I fired at your vessel, I'm glad I didn't blast you to your basic atomic make-up.

Trip:  That makes two of us.  Maybe three, if Phlox agrees.  (Phlox says nothing)  Now, let's exchange a manly hug.

Ziggy:  Milkface.

Finis. 

Can you hold the tears back in this sappy sentimentality?  I sure can't! 


End file.
